Yet I can't play an instrument. I sing, but not exceptionally well. I dance, which is probably just as intense in its own way-- but I don't always want to dance. I also have no real formal music training/education, though I certainly feel as though I've sought out and absorbed a lot of information about it just by virtue of being an appreciator; I like music, so I want to know more about it. And when I dig deeper, it brings some human quirk (or some broader comment on life in general) into sharp relief. Example:
1925 - Bessie Smith
Bessie Smith wasn't the first person to sing this song (written in 1914 by one Spencer Williams, sez Wiki), but she brings a fire to it that only the Empress could tend. The recording isn't the greatest quality here, but something in her voice transcends the pop and crackle, seemingly by embracing it. You can tell that this girl-- who grew up in poverty, surrounded by death and abandonment-- had known the meaning of "nobody." An orphan by age 9, she began performing with an older brother to keep the family afloat, singing for her supper in Chattanooga just a little over a century ago.
Her brother left without a word in 1904 to perform with a traveling troupe, then returned 8 years later to recruit her (just as a dancer at first). Soon, Smith began to climb her way up to fame with just the power of her voice and the force of her personality. Once she finally inherited a lead singer spot from mentor Ma Rainey, she began to assert herself as an unapologetic diva (some might say sociopath) and fearless life-liver. She once chased away the KKK in the middle of a packed show in the South, then continued singing once the unfriendly ghosts had been effectively exorcised. Her estranged husband refused to give her a headstone after her accidental death in 1937, and she didn't get one until Janis Joplin paid to have it done in 1970. She's been inducted into too many halls of fame to mention, idolized and imitated by too many vocalists to list, and pictured on a U.S. postage stamp. A life in many ways tragic, but somehow ultimately triumphant-- a theme that would follow the song through its many interpretations.
1956 - Louis Prima
I remember watching Disney's "The Jungle Book" as a very young child and getting kind of angry when the songs were over-- not because the rest of the movie was bad, but the music was SO GOOD. On a lark, I downloaded Louis Prima's (King Louie's) song "I Wanna Be Like You" a few years ago... and felt the same way. Recently, I've taken to listening to Prima's "Just a Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody" pairing in the shower. A coupling originally devised by Prima's sax player Sam Butera, it swings, it's silly, and it can be a gleeful kind of cathartic. Basically, it's impossible to feel sorry for yourself when you're listening to that horn section. You can tell he was smiling when he sang it, but even this bouncy, bubbling interpretation has a soul (just listen to the girl in the background who overtakes him on the "nobody"-- AWESOME).
A first-generation American (his parents were from Sicily), Prima attended Jesuit school in his hometown of New Orleans until being kicked out for misbehavior as a teenager. As a child, he learned the violin, but it would be the trumpet and his Louis Armstrong-inspired scat singing that defined him as a performer. A serial philanderer and divorcee, Prima was perhaps more intimately familiar with the "Gigolo" half of this medley, but he sure sells every bit of it. Three years after this song became a hit, Prima won a Grammy for another classic, "That Old Black Magic." Last year, on the 100th anniversary of his birthday, he was honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and as the poster artist for the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
He died in 1975 from complications due to a brain stem tumor. His tombstone reads: "When the end comes, I know, they'll all say 'just a gigolo' as life goes on without me. Lovingly, your little family..."
1985 - David Lee Roth
There's ~2 minutes of filler at the beginning (and a LOT of spandex); you have been warned. I'll be honest, I hadn't seen this video in a decade or so, and I only did so now because I figured it was the version most of you would be familiar with, and it would have been disingenuous of me to critique it based on my own shoddy recall of Pop-Up Video. Having said that, I 'm at once relieved and unsurprised that I wasn't missing out on anything by not having Roth's ridiculous hair and even more ridiculous mugging in my life.
This video came out the year I was born, and I know because of VH1 that most of the sets he crashes are from well-known peers' music videos released around the same time. Michael Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, Billy Idol-- those are just the ones I remember, and I'm not going to watch the damn thing again just to fill out the list. My first thought was "pop culture references with live-action spoofing and an ego disproportionate to talent-- is this the 80's Eminem?" But looking back, that may be selling Eminem short.
The bottom line is: Roth may have had his share of troubles, even in his heyday. Drugs, women, difficult career decisions-- his personal life was less charmed than his impish, womanizing persona let on-- but his version is so slick it's practically plastic. He struts and pouts and glistens, but his words lack the introspection of Bessie Smith and the sincerity of Louis Prima. He mutes the density of the melody in favor of smarm and self-service, nearly removing the instrumentality entirely so we have nothing to focus on BUT him. Bessie may have been a bit of a bitch, but she knew she wasn't the only one in the band. Plus, when this song and video became a huge hit, he refused to pay Sam Butera royalties for coming up with the Prima-led version of the song, or even simply credit him with the arrangement.
...
Now, I know at the beginning of this, I made it seem like there was some deeper understanding to glean from the three different versions of this song that I chose to single out for this impromptu essay. I still believe that to be true, but I don't want to limit the potential for new perspectives. Some things to consider: how can a song be so different from generation to generation, yet consistently yield a hit? Am I being too hard on Roth-- is there something I'm missing about his version that makes other people prefer it above all others? Is this a statement about what Americans value in their music, and in their musicians? Did people really dress like that in the 80's (I know, I know... but SERIOUSLY)? And what about now-- is there anyone that could breathe some fresh air into the piece, just in time for its first centennial?
These are all questions.
This video came out the year I was born, and I know because of VH1 that most of the sets he crashes are from well-known peers' music videos released around the same time. Michael Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, Billy Idol-- those are just the ones I remember, and I'm not going to watch the damn thing again just to fill out the list. My first thought was "pop culture references with live-action spoofing and an ego disproportionate to talent-- is this the 80's Eminem?" But looking back, that may be selling Eminem short.
The bottom line is: Roth may have had his share of troubles, even in his heyday. Drugs, women, difficult career decisions-- his personal life was less charmed than his impish, womanizing persona let on-- but his version is so slick it's practically plastic. He struts and pouts and glistens, but his words lack the introspection of Bessie Smith and the sincerity of Louis Prima. He mutes the density of the melody in favor of smarm and self-service, nearly removing the instrumentality entirely so we have nothing to focus on BUT him. Bessie may have been a bit of a bitch, but she knew she wasn't the only one in the band. Plus, when this song and video became a huge hit, he refused to pay Sam Butera royalties for coming up with the Prima-led version of the song, or even simply credit him with the arrangement.
...
Now, I know at the beginning of this, I made it seem like there was some deeper understanding to glean from the three different versions of this song that I chose to single out for this impromptu essay. I still believe that to be true, but I don't want to limit the potential for new perspectives. Some things to consider: how can a song be so different from generation to generation, yet consistently yield a hit? Am I being too hard on Roth-- is there something I'm missing about his version that makes other people prefer it above all others? Is this a statement about what Americans value in their music, and in their musicians? Did people really dress like that in the 80's (I know, I know... but SERIOUSLY)? And what about now-- is there anyone that could breathe some fresh air into the piece, just in time for its first centennial?
These are all questions.
